


Sometimes We Fight, Sometimes We Kiss

by girlunafraid23



Series: Our Theme Song [13]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlunafraid23/pseuds/girlunafraid23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mickey's day had been awful that his face was now in one of his famous stay-away-or-else scowls because no one would dare sit near him on the subway. He just wanted to go home and face-plant onto the bed and sleep. Usually, he was really good at taking shit from some of his co-workers that he wasn't friendly with, but today it took everything in him not to smack them around." </p>
<p>Mickey had a really horrible day at work and is fueled up with anger and it turns out Ian didn't have such a good day either which leads to them fighting about nothing, until it turns into a fist fight after Mickey says something stupid. (I have no idea where this came from)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes We Fight, Sometimes We Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Love Your Friends, Die Laughing by Man Overboard

Mickey's day had been awful that his face was now in one of his famous stay-away-or-else scowls because no one would dare sit near him on the subway. He just wanted to go home and face-plant onto the bed and sleep. Usually, he was really good at taking shit from some of his co-workers that he wasn't friendly with, but today it took everything in him not to smack them around. 

He was about two steps away from the door to their apartment when he heard a hushed cursing. His hand stilled on the doorknob for a moment but decided against leaning his ear against the door and trying to spy. He lived there, for Christ's sake. 

When he opened the door, Ian looked up briefly from where he was kneeling in front of the couch, before poking his head down again, seeming to search for something underneath of it. "What the fuck are you doing, Gallagher," Mickey asked, and he should have known his tone would be full of rage, even though Ian didn't do anything. It was just one of those days.

Ian barely acknowledged his tone, or even his question though, because he didn't say anything and just kept rummaging underneath the couch. Mickey hated being ignored, especially when he talked first when he was in a bad mood. It made his blood boil even more and he was about five seconds away pulling Ian off the ground and shaking him. 

Before he could repeat the question, Ian sighed, "I lost my fucking keys again. I can't find them." 

Mickey watched him as he pushed the couch back, one hand pulling at his hair, making it stick up in all directions. If Mickey wasn't blinded by his own anger from the day, he would have noticed that Ian didn't seem to be having such a good day either. "You're always losing your fucking keys. We might as well get a fucking metal detector for you so you can find them easier."

Ian finally looked up at Mickey, locking eyes in an intense glare, "Yeah, well sorry. Who is it that always manages to lose his fucking wallet? You know that thing you keep money in and your license and all the actually really important things in? Oh wait, that's you."

The two of them glared at each other, Mickey's lips turning up to bare his teeth as if he were about to snarl at him. "Fuck you Gallagher, at least I wouldn't be stuck outside my own fucking apartment."

The red head laughed bitterly at him, "I've picked the lock before, dipshit, and no, you'd have no money for the subway so you'd have to walk from wherever the fuck you worked today."

"For fuck's sake, Gallagher, quit your bitching. I wouldn't be stuck anywhere and you know it. We moved from the South Side of Chicago, I would manage just fine," Mickey threw back at him, bitterly. 

Ian finally moved off the floor and took a few steps towards Mickey. His eyes were dark, a look he never had before war that whenever they fought always made Mickey angrier. They were both silent as they stared each other down, the air around them tense.

They didn't fight like this often, usually it was just some domestic disputes, stupid, trivial things that didn't last long at all. Their worst fights were always about Ian's stubbornness or Mickey's jealously. So this felt strange to Mickey. He wasn't entirely sure what they were fighting about.

He saw Ian start to move back, his glare never softening but Mickey was only seeing red, "So what, you gonna pussy out and go back to looking for your keys? You can't even hold your ground, right?" 

Ian's jaw clenched, his muscles locking harsh enough to grind his teeth. Mickey rolled his shoulders back, something he used to do to intimidate people in Chicago. It was his trademark before a fight. "What are you gonna do, Mick? You gonna hit me. I think we've already had this fight, didn't we? Does it still make you feel like a man to hit me? Does it make you feel better," Ian spat at him, his voice so harsh it would've made anyone else flinch.

A flashback roared in Mickey's head of the time he beat Ian's face, almost kicking out a tooth when he tried to get Mickey to admit he was gay and in love with him back in Chicago. Before Mickey was finally about to accept the truth. 

The comment hit him hard and he growled at Ian, "I don't hit girls or cripples." 

Before Mickey could even comprehend what he had said, a fist connected to his jaw with enough force to knock him back into the wall. Mickey had always been a good fighter, but within seconds, Ian had him on the ground, straddling his waist and throwing punch after punch like his life depended on it. 

It took a few moments for Mickey to finally grab Ian's fist before it connected with his jaw, managing to roll them over and get a punch in. Ian flailed enough to get his hand loose and he twisted Mickey's arm, maneuvering them so Ian had Mickey's arm across his back while Ian leaned his weight on top of him. 

They both stayed their, breathing heavily while Mickey bit his tongue to keep from groaning at the intense burning that was happening in his shoulder from the angle his arm was being held. A second later, Ian pushed off of him, stomping away towards their bedroom and the door was slammed shut. 

Mickey's face was smashed against the carpet as he tried to control his breathing and take in what had just happened between him. He could barely remember anything that he said, all that really computed was his raging anger and his need to take it out on something. Ian was just the unlucky person he happened to stumble upon first.

After a few minutes, Mickey realized how stupid he was. Even if Ian was mad, seething really, he wouldn't have hit Mickey first. If they fought with fists, Mickey was always the one to initiate it, but Ian always defected like the professional he was. Now all Mickey could think about was throwing himself off the closest bridge for implying that Ian was a cripple.

He knew that no matter how much time passed, or how well his knee healed, Ian would always be bitter over it. Mickey also knew that while Mickey himself always stayed insecure to the fact that Ian could leave him, find someone better, that Ian was insecure about the same thing. They've had countless fights about Ian wanting Mickey to leave and be happy with someone else. That it would just be easier without some 'army reject in the way'. 

The apartment was silent and Mickey didn't know how to even approach what just happened. He didn't think Ian was a cripple, because obviously, he just kicked his ass seven ways to Sunday. 

But before Mickey could even begin to think of a proper way to apologize to Ian, for making a jab at his biggest insecurity, the bedroom door opened and Ian marched into the living and stood over him. He still looked livid, but a small part of Mickey was relieved to find that he didn't have a duffel bag in his hand. 

Ian yanked him off the ground and pushed him over on to the couch, the silent tension still hanging in the air, choking all the oxygen out of Mickey. He was pushed down hard on to the couch, his face hitting one of the cushions while his legs dangled off the armrest. He moved so his knees were on couch, before Ian yanked him up by his hair, making him hiss. 

"I'm gonna fuck you until you can't see straight. I'm not a cripple and you're really lucky I think you're sexy when you're angry or else we'd have a really big problem," Ian said, his voice tight and rough. His fingers were tugging harshly on Mickey's hair who made a choked sound of pain and arousal. Ian threw Mickey's head back towards the couch and stripped his own shirt off while Mickey did the same. 

The two of them quickly pulled off their clothes in desperation and even though Mickey knew that this was probably going to be the roughest sex they've ever had, he couldn't stop his erection from throbbing in anticipation. 

Usually, Ian prepped him with his fingers, but Mickey was under no allusion that today that was going to happen. Mickey pushed his body forward, so his Ian could get behind him on the couch, his arms gripping the armrest tightly. He heard Ian snap open a bottle of lube and squirt some on to his hand, stroking himself and then lathering Mickey's opening enough for him to be wet and keening. 

Mickey knew to stay silent when Ian was in this type of state. If he demanded, Ian would only draw it out longer, because he knew that he really hit a nerve when he said that to Ian. His thoughts were cut short though when Ian pounded into him quickly, with no warning whatsoever. Mickey let out a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of the couch. 

Ian settled for only a second, barely letting Mickey get adjusted to the feel, before he was pulling out again and thrusting himself forward. He thrusted with determination and every ounce of anger he had was being pushed into Mickey all at once. Mickey's cock ached from where it dangled, the tip grazing the couch at every thrust. 

Each thrust had Mickey groaning, while Ian's fingers would tighten against his hips each time he made a noise. There would be splotches of blue and purple bruises there in the morning, but Mickey couldn't find it in himself to care. His hand moved down instinctively to stroke himself, but Ian was took quick for him. He grabbed Mickey's arm and forced it behind his back, like when they were fighting, but the twist didn't hurt like before. 

His cock was throbbing, it begged for attention but Ian was determined to make this the most painful pleasure Mickey endured. He could feel himself whining, begging Ian to let him touch himself, but Ian's firm grip only tightened at his pleas. "Fuck Ian, please, Jesus Christ," Mickey found himself saying, his thoughts swirling around too quickly for him to form real sentences. 

Ian grunted at him, his hips rolling forward so he rocked against Mickey's prostate, making him moan loudly, without shame. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ian, please, Ian," Mickey kept saying. It got to the point where he was almost unsure of what he was begging for, Ian's forgiveness or for his need to get himself off. 

Finally, after a few more harsh thrusts, Ian let Mickey's arm go and he quickly moved it to stroke at his dick that was wet from precome. He heard Ian groan, as he rolled his hips in the perfect motion that had Mickey screaming out as he came all over the couch cushions, which wasn't a first. Ian thrusted just a few more times before he had his own release, cursing and moaning all at once, while he leaned his forehead against the center of Mickey's back, breathing heavily. 

Mickey didn't want to say anything to get Ian to move, despite the fact that come was dripping down his thighs and Ian's rapidly softening dick felt uncomfortable. 

Finally, Ian sighed and pulled out of him and dropping down on the other side of the couch. He picked up the pack of cigarettes they keep on the living room table and the lit one up. He took a long drag and Mickey watched his cheek bones flex and his lips curl around the stick. Mickey had long ago memorized every twitch and movement that Ian had, but still watched him anyways, as if something may suddenly change.

Ian wiped sweat up into his already damp red hair that instantly flopped back down onto his forehead. He didn't say anything to Mickey as he exhaled a stream of smoke, didn't even spare him a glance. 

"You know that's not what I think of you, right," Mickey finally said. Ian didn't say anything right away, only took another drag of his cigarette, but his eyes had lost that intense gleam to them that always sent Mickey's heart into a flurry. 

He watched Ian roll his head back to lay against the head of the couch, his eyes closed and his face pointed at the ceiling. Mickey watched as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, a few ashes falling onto the couch. When Ian finally opened his eyes and looked over at Mickey, his eyes only looked tired. 

Ian stared at Mickey for a while, the two of them sitting in a new found silence, still not their usual comfortable one, but less intense than their blind fury. "I know, Mick, I know."

"I'm sorry," Mickey said, like he was pleading with him and he didn't care how pathetic he sounded, he needed Ian to understand. But before he could say anything else to him, Ian handed him the cigarette and said, "This won't be our last fight, Mick. It won't be the last time you say something stupid, it won't be the last time I kick your ass and it won't be the last time we have rough sex just so I can get some of my anger that you're really good at working up, out on someone. I get it, you don't think I'm a cripple and sometimes you're a real fucking prick, but I knew all that when I came to New York with you, didn't I?"

Mickey stared at him for a moment before finally nodding, "Yeah, I guess you did." He put the cigarette up to his lips and inhaled deeply. 

For most people, they probably wouldn't understand what Ian was saying, but Mickey always did. He caught the undertones of every little thing Ian said to him, found all the promises that weren't exactly spoken. Mickey took comfort in the fact that today wouldn't be the last time Ian kicked his ass for being an idiot.


End file.
